


With Jam and Kindness

by RegalMisfortune



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: AU where instead of snufkin being invisible he's tiny, And he's never been to Moominvalley before, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/pseuds/RegalMisfortune
Summary: The world is so much larger when you're small.Snufkin had been bigger once, but he could barely remember how it was. It hurt to think about it, so he didn't. It only made travelling that much more interesting- and much more dangerous. A spring snowstorm was risky to him as it was to the buds of the trees just trying to sprout, and he left the safety of the forest days ago to venture out into the open field.Perhaps this large house wouldn't mind a secret, unannounced guest- at least until the storm blew over.





	1. Snowmelt

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I had after binge watching the cartoons and it grew legs and scampered away from me c:

Snufkin couldn’t remember what exactly transpired to result in him ending up like this.

It was the nature of things, he reckoned, gazing up at the mounds of melting snow. He recalled of children who were abused turning invisible, scared of their aggressor, scared of _themselves_. But he wasn’t quite like that, not with his tiny paws clutching at blades of fresh spring grass and pulling himself up and over the banks of lingering snow. He didn’t _feel_ abused, maybe just a bit lonely, although he didn’t know why. Perhaps he was catching a cold. Thinking back made his heart hurt and his head ache with vague concepts he could barely grasp, like seeds on the summer wind. It was easier not to think about it at all, and so he didn’t, not really.

He did remember being much bigger than this before, peering down from spindly tree branches and splashing in the riverbanks. Yet trees were beyond his comprehension now, not when stalks of dead grass of yesteryear were taller than he and have been for so long he'd lost count. The meltwater from piles of muddied slush were his streams now, and birds were far more dangerous than they ever had been as he ducked into the shade of a wooden spire, tail tucked close and eyes wide as he waited with baited breath for the bird in his path to flit away.

And away it did, twig in its beak and wings whistling through the cool spring air. For the best- not many wished to listen to him anymore, not when he was so small and possibly very tasty looking for a hungry bird just arrived from the South.

It was still far too early in the season, and the wind carried the hint of snow that tickled his nose and worried his stomach so. Maybe he was simply just hungry, having run out of seeds and root scraps yesterday. Still, the scent of a spring snowstorm was on the horizon, and poor Snufkin had left the forest days ago. There were few trees out in this plain, and no field mouse would be awake quite yet to let him into their holes under all the lingering snow. The storm would’ve come and gone by the time he returned to the forest’s shelter, and he wasn’t quite ready to scale packed snow and icy winds all over again, not when the spring thaw was felt so deep in his bones, making him yearn for sun and flowers of the awakening season.

But first, he had to figure out where he was.

Claws in wood, Snufkin began to climb up the wooden post, his pack weighing him down but too hesitant to leave it behind. What if the wind knocked it over, or some wayward creature took it? The post was tall and easy enough to scamper up, a vantage point he was eager to use in the early morning light. It would leave him exposed to the birds, but at least he would be able to take in the lay of the land, even for a moment. Perhaps he would be able to spot a tree, or a pile of rocks to shelter in until the frantic claws of winter finally give way to the warmth of spring for good.

The wood ended in splinters- something of use once but had been ruined by the mountains of snow during the cold season. It was useful to Snufkin in any case, nose twitching and hand holding onto his hat against the breeze as he marveled over the landscape he could finally see over the grass and snow.

It was a valley, nestled between mountains and forest so far in the distance. The terrain was marred with mud and ice now, but if he closed his eyes he could see the beautiful array of flowers that danced in the warm breeze of spring and summer. A brook, swollen with the snowmelt burbled below a wooden bridge, carefully crafted to withstand the test of time and the occasional spring flood. A muddied path led across the bride and through patches of grass and snow to the front step of a large, towering house painted in a soft robin’s egg blue. There were hints of flower beds peeking out from the snow, and, yes, Snufkin could see even prettier flowers thriving under the gentle care of whoever owned the home, if he closed his eyes and soaked in the pale rays of sunlight. A peaceful, kind place, he thought.

No, no, he shouldn’t be daydreaming now. It may be morning now, but it could take all day on such small paws to reach the safety of the home. He wasn’t worried about the owners- he was so small, they wouldn’t even know he’d come! What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and he certainly wasn’t planning on causing any terrible trouble. Just a day or two hiding away in the back of a cupboard or in the rafters, warm and dry, just to wait out the last dying breaths of winter. Maybe they’d even have some nice, fresh-baked bread he could sneak a nibble or two from. Just the crust. He’d make it look like a natural crumble.

The thought of warm, _fresh_ food made his stomach gurgle as he slid down the post, leaving tiny, parallel scratches in his wake. He did love nature, the thrill of travelling and being out in the open, but the lure of home cooked food that wasn’t simply whatever rations or simple stew he could make was enough for him to set aside his worries of being spotted by such larger, grander folk. Being alone was simply how Snufkin lived, and he was much too small to be of interest anyway. He doubted anyone would hear him even if he wanted them to. It would be fine.

It took him the rest of the morning and into the afternoon to reach the steps of the large home, its visage looming further and further above him to blot out the sun. The spring air had picked up icier tones as the day progressed, and by the time he reached the bottom step he was clutching his hat with both hands in fear of losing it to the wind. If he had more time, Snufkin would have gone searching for another way in- a backdoor, a subtle crack in the paneling- but with fat snowflakes starting to occasionally drift down in warning of the weather to come, the lad had no other choice but go through the front door.

It was made much easier with the door being cracked ajar, a careless resident having forgotten to shut the door all the way. It didn’t take much effort at all for Snufkin to squeeze himself through the narrow gap, his bag catching for only a moment. He was quick to take note and duck for shelter under a coatrack by the door with nothing but a hat and a scarf on its spindles. Mostly for guests, perhaps.

The rooms were spacious and separated for the most part, warm rugs and cozy chairs taking up the space by the fireplace of the room to the left. Stairs disappearing up and up into the unknown ahead of him. The scent of cooking food and gentle humming coming to his right.

It only took a moment for him to make up his mind, tail tucked close and on all fours as he looked both ways before scurrying across the hardwood floor, pressed against the wall to keep out of sight as he slunk into the kitchen.

Someone very large with very white furred feet was cooking in the kitchen. They were such an odd, round creature, Snufkin mused as he hid behind a crate of firewood. Up and up his eyes went, past the pretty red and white striped apron, past the paws stirring a spoon in a pot, and over the large, round snout. Soft was the first word that popped into his head. Friendly was his second.

He shook his head, chasing the thought away under a soft dusting of earth and a stray leaf he’d picked up along the way. He wasn’t here to make friends, he was here to ride out the spring storm, and maybe a nibble or two from some fresh bread or a dropped cooked carrot. They wouldn't like him entering their home and eating their food in any case.

“Mamma-“

Snufkin hurriedly ducked his head behind the crate again as a second soft being appeared, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Snufkin didn’t linger any longer as drifting conversation about hibernation followed him through a narrow gap between the wall and a lower cabinet with a drawer full of old tea towels. Slightly dusty, from how they tickled his nose. Perfect- no one would be disturbing him here.

The scent of “Mamma”’s cooking crept in through the gap after him, curling around him even as Snufkin slid the bag from his shoulders and hat off his head. Well, the kitchen was certainly much too small for the three of them, and he knew when to step out. So instead he settled down for a well-deserved nap. If these creatures had been hibernating, then there would certainly be crumbs to be had after their post-hibernation dinner. Snufkin was looking forward to it as he drifted off into a light doze, tuckered out from his long travels and soothed by the soft murmur of voices and the clicks and clunks of dinner being prepared by gifted paws.  


	2. Butter and Jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh!!! Thank you everyone for the support! It's a tad bit unexpected!
> 
> I should be studying for finals, but instead I have the next few chapters planned out, whoops.

Snufkin had been in several kitchens during his travels. Some were far too large while others were compact. Some had food aplenty, and some had very little food at all. But they were all so very eerie in the nightly shadows, quiet and still and _not right_. Kitchens were for the symphony of pots and pans, for the crackling of fire and bubbling of water in a kettle. It wasn’t right to be in a silent kitchen, but Snufkin had learned to stifle this worried thought away as he pulled himself up over the lip of the counter.

This kitchen was different, in the strange way that his unknowing hosts were. It was still mostly dark and the rattling of wet snow and cold rain on the windowpanes should have made it far more eerier, but even with the absence of the apron-wearing being the room still carried her _presence,_ warm and inviting. The lamp burning low nearby made the shadows dance in its pale light. The scent of lingering cooking tickled his nose and made his stomach gurgle as his eyes set on something covered with a cloth embroidered by small bright flowers in the corner just further down the counter.

A late night snack prepared for another, perhaps. Just in case they had woken up and were feeling quite peckish. It was such a caring thought that Snufkin had to push it aside, lest something inside began to hurt.

Right now, he had to see what sort of meal he was getting!

Tiny paws pattered across the counter as he approached the plate with hungry curiosity. Maybe some leftovers from their hibernation dinner- oh!- maybe some cake! He couldn’t remember the last time he had cake, but he could imagine the sweet taste on his tongue, toned down by the sour of fresh fruit filling dribbled between the layers. A dash of cream to wrap it all together. Something indulgent from the days of hearty roots and bitter seeds cracked in the cold. Even a small creature like him craved for something sweet and comforting every once in awhile.

It wasn’t cake, Snufkin noted with just the briefest flashes of disappointment as he carefully lifted the corner of the cloth. But it _was_ freshly baked bread, a part of it already pre-sliced. Oh! And a small tray of butter too!

Tearing off a slightly crumbling corner of one of the slices, Snufkin happily carried it off to the butter, swiping its smooth edges with the rough corners of bread. His stomach gurgled eagerly, and he was already imagining the smoothness of the butter before he had even tasted it. He was about to tuck in when he noticed the pale lamplight flickering over the curved surface of glass, painting the insides with a dark red.

_Jam._

Bread temporarily forgotten in his hands, Snufkin scurried over to the jar, eyes wide as he peered into the depths, nose twitching to see if he could pick up some scent of what laid within. Raspberry, maybe, or strawberry or cranberry or even cherry. There were so many options, but Snufkin wasn’t too picky because it was _jam_ and he wanted some.

But how to get to it?

Setting his piece of buttered bread down, Snufkin walked around the glass jar, searching for some form of foothold. There was no paper label on this one, and while he could possibly climb up it, he had no means of taking the lid off, especially a seemingly new jar like this one. His paws were simply too small, and the lid would certainly be pressured shut. He could try to push it off the edge and break it open, but that would certainly wake someone up and make them aware of something being amiss. And that would make a right mess of perfectly fine, delicious jam too… 

There was no way around it. Snufkin would simply have to do without.

His tail droop in disappointment as he turned his back to the jam to picked up his portion of bread. He really wanted jam…

A creak of a step made him perk his ears, going perfectly still as he listened to the silence beyond. A shuffle of something larger and heavier than he sprung him into action, quickly pulling the corner of the cloth back over the bread and scuttling behind a few canisters lining the sides of the counter, his heart frantic in his chest and tail around his ankles to make him even smaller and unseen.

The room brightened a little as the wick to the lamp was adjusted, a sleepy sniffle and clumsy paws feeling around with clinks of silverware on glass. Cautiously, Snufkin took a peek out, careful to remain in the shadows lest the lamplight caught his ghostly form upon the wall.

It wasn’t the same apron-wearing being as before. No, it was a smaller one, the one who had come into the kitchen earlier that day. Sleep laden his eyes as he scraped butter across a slice of bread, soft paws twisting at the lid to the jam jar and dipping a spoon inside. He was a little careless, dribbling a bit over the lip and down the side, but he did take care in not spilling any onto the table as he set the spoon on top of the lid to not stain the woodgrain.

They were such strange beings, these unknowing hosts. At this height he could see his dainty, velvety ears shared by the apron-wearing one, his mother, perhaps. Everything about them was round and soft edges, like a pillow, or a drifting cloud in the summer sky. Even as sleepy as this one was, there didn’t seem to be anything pointing to a harsh nature. Not that he was planning on staying long enough to find out, mind. He would be long gone before his curious admiration of the soft creatures was tainted by bitter words and sharp actions.

“It’s still storming.”

Snufkin jolted a bit, panic flashing through every part of his being at the mumbled words. He feared that he had been spotted, terrified that the strange soft creature he had been examining was speaking to him. Yet the sleepy eyes were facing towards the window, speaking through his bread with no concern of “proper” manners or being heard at all. Speaking to himself.

“Stop it, you silly clouds,” came the next grumble as the gentle being finished swallowing his bread and licking the jam off his paws, giving the darkness outside what should have been a stern look if not for the red smear of jam around his mouth and crumbs littering his fur. “Spring’s here. You're not supposed to snow anymore.”

The wind continued to rattle the windows, and the poor being sighed in defeat with a soft _“oh well”_ , bringing his paws up to rub at his eyes as he let out a long, tiring yawn. The lamp was turned back down again, the cloth haphazardly placed over the bread again but the jam forgotten to be recovered as he plodded back out of the kitchen and up the stairs again. Snufkin waited until the footsteps were long gone before he crept back out again.

He counted his blessings with his close encounter, as he swiped his bread across the trail of jam that oozed down the side of the glass. At least now he didn’t have to be disappointed in not getting any jam at all, and the crumbs left behind by the slightly messy lad was certainly an invitation for him to gather some up for later! But for now, he was content in taking a bite out of his buttered bread and jam.

Mm… raspberry.


	3. Trajectory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooohhhh thank you very much for all the support!! I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying this!!

The snow had turned into rain, the clouds thick and dark with no end in sight of the dreary weather. Fog inched its way up the glass windowpanes, blocking out the murky landscape outside from the warm comforts of the home’s occupants.

Snufkin had found himself up in the rafters, tail swishing through the dust as he watched “Mamma” cook far below. He had been exploring in the early morning hours, crumbs safety tucked away into his bag left with the nearly-forgotten dish towels. The home was massive and full of nooks and crannies to explore. That alone would tide him over until the rain had stopped and the mud no longer threatened to pull him under, but he could feel it in his gut that this rain would continue for quite some time. He didn't want to be a bother by getting lost and being spotted during the day, nor did he wish to be caught up and dumped outside in the rain after sneaking into their house. It was best to to simply learn the layout and the best hiding spots before anyone awoke. None would be the wiser. If only the rain would stop soon...

Well, there was nothing more that could be done about it, and so Snufkin had begun to map out the paths and secret gaps that let him navigate throughout the bottom floor of the quaint little home. There were so many pots and pans, vials and tins of spices and herbs, a root cellar chocked full of preserved food to hold the family over until the first crops and forgeable began to become ripe for picking. There were nuts, acorn squash, rows upon rows of jam and juice, bundles of dried herbs hanging from the low beams. There was so much food that Snufkin didn’t quite know what to make of it all (but hid a miniscule toasted pumpkin seed to take back with him to his bag nevertheless).

There was a living room with a fire place and chandelier and soft couches and chairs that didn’t match but made the space all the more inviting in its organized discontinuity. The dining room was much the same, with no two chair the same but bound together around the table regardless. There was a chaos to the home, but it was a welcoming one, where the occupants cared little for pretense and style but found harmony all the same in its mismatch of furniture and patterned upholstery.

It was one of the nicest homes he had ever seen, and that wasn’t even including the many floors above him.

Snufkin had been up in the kitchen rafters when the sound of movement tickled his ears and set him on alert. The tiny lad had climbed his way up from a beam that was tastefully hidden behind a set of cabinets, but a portion of it was exposed and left him no time to try to clamber back down before the familiar round face with the red and white apron appeared in the doorway.

And so here he was, stuck up in the rafters yet hidden from sight as the womanly beast hummed and set to her tasks. At first Snufkin had kept close to the center, out of sight and low risk. But time past and he grew bored of waiting, and curious of what was happening below him, so he carefully poked his nose out over the edge.

“Mamma” wasn’t paying any attention at all to what was above her, her workspace dusted with flour. Cinnamon was in the air, and there was plenty of sugar. Maybe she was making cinnamon rolls, but his guess was good as any. Snufkin couldn’t recall if he ever _had_ a cinnamon roll before, nor had he seen anyone make them either. In truth, he hadn’t really seen anyone bake before at all. It was such a novel sight- and so messy!

He laid on his stomach as he peered over the edge, watching with great fascination. The flour blended in with her white paws, but there was a faint dusting that lingered on the floor around her feet as she hummed and measured out ingredients with strange handled cups and odd spoons. She wasn’t particularly neat, nor was she excessively messy either. It seemed that was simply the nature of baking, and she controlled her little necessary mess with finesse and good cheer in stark contrast to the dreadful weather outside.

Her ears twitched at the same time his picked up the sound of feet on the stairs again, heavier than hers or the younger one. Snufkin was quick to pull back from the edge, but still watching the kitchen doorway as a larger but similar being walked in, a top hat on his head.

“Good morning, Moominmamma,” the hat-wearing one said, walking underneath Snufkin’s perch to nuzzle his snout against Moominmamma’s cheek in affection. So her name was Moominmamma. How odd. But so very fitting.

“Good morning, dear,” she replied, a smile in her words even while her attention was still on her rolling. “Sleep well?”

Snufkin drowned out the conversation, deciding it wasn’t worth listening to, instead peering down at the larger beast’s hat as a thought popped into mind. Perhaps… yes… it wasn’t like Mamma was paying any attention, and neither was the other (her husband, from the looks of it). It was a gamble, but he would really like to come down now. He couldn’t stay up in the rafters forever, and watching her bake was making him hungry again. He was at risk of being discovered if he remained up here, and if the youngest one came in then there'd be three sets of eyes that could spot him. His plan was risky on its own, but it was the right choice for the current situation. After all, it seemed that the larger one had just woken up, and Mamma was still tending to her tasks. Far too busy to notice. 

His tail flicked as he eyed his trajectory, body coiling up like a spring, waiting until the hat-wearing one straightened up before he launched himself off the beam.

It felt as if he was flying, for just the briefest moment, but then he was coming down as wind whistled past his ears and hat starting to slip from his head. He landed on the other’s hat with a soft thump, his weight negligible other than a slight push of the brim with an absent hand by the wearer to readjust it. Snufkin carefully slid down to the back of the brim, peering down and down the expanse of soft white fur and a tufted tail that swished absently once as the two continued to talk, the larger creature leaning against the workspace and Mamma tutting.

Well, nothing like the present.

The white fur _was_ soft, leaving little traction. That was fine to Snufkin, who slid down the elder Moomin-creature’s back and off the end of his tail, landing on his feet on the floor below. It prompted a shudder from the other, his fur rising a little as he shivered.

“Brr! Someone’s walking across my grave.”

“Oh dear, maybe you should move it again,” came Mamma’s amused reply from far above as Snufkin ducked under her feet while she moved, carrying her tray towards the oven while he hid under the prep table.

He watched the feet move about for just a moment more before he made a break for it on the other side of the table, scurrying back to the safety of his little makeshift nest in the towel drawer. He felt safer in having no sure means of being spotted, tucked away between the folds as he pulled his hat off his head and tipped out the pumpkin seed. There were no prying eyes to be had in the drawer, and while it wasn’t open and free like the world outside, it would simply have to do for now until the rain stopped.

So Snufkin had his breakfast of toasted pumpkin seed, none of the wiser to the tiny prints he left behind in the flour on the floor and the trail that led straight to his hiding place.


End file.
